


A Mind Splitting At The Seams

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, Mental Health Issues, dark!Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-04
Updated: 2013-02-04
Packaged: 2017-11-28 05:29:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/670805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dark!Sherlock and the start of that descent into darkness. Inspired by Broken Pieces by Apocalyptica.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Mind Splitting At The Seams

{[x](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HLFqIzWh-zk)}

_Too late - this is not the answer  
I need to pack in_

Sherlock is becoming certain that the line between good and bad is blurring, fading, like sand slipping through his fingers. The harder he tries to hold on the quicker it moves away from him, and yet he is finding it more difficult to see how wrong that is.

Would it really be so awful to take a life? To create a beautiful crime scene that no one can solve?

There is a darkness that suffuses his mind now, taints his senses, and blurs that line between good and – god forbid – evil. It is like black soot that coats the insides of his veins and is slowly suffocating his heart, taking away his senses one by one and he will not resist any more. He can almost see it sometimes, the flow beneath his skin of what he is sure is corruption. He wonders if it is hurting him, damaging him in some way.

Surely it can’t be a good thing, that dark tint to blood. Blood ought to be red and stay in crime scenes, where it is perfect and beautiful. Then again, he thinks that the corruption is in his mind rather than his blood, and that is what twists his perception.

_And as you ripped it all apart_   
_That's when I turned to watch you_   
_And as the light in you turned dark_   
_I saw you turn to shadow_

There is a need for the wholesale destruction that can usually be fulfilled by a case, and yet this time it does not feel that simple. He wants to be the one to cause the hurt, engineer such a painful situation that most do not see the beauty in. There is a quick-paced desire forged in liquid steel that will not fade now, and the line is vanishing. He tries to find it again, to make himself stick to the right side, but he can’t see it any more. Perhaps John could help; John has always been his moral compass in the past.

He is not sure there is any point in holding on when the inevitable is coming. Why should he fight something that seems so appealing, that he wants so very much and knows will become ever more destructive if he lets it?

_If you would salvage some part of you that once new love_   
_But I’m losing this_   
_And I’m losing you_

He thinks that he is too far gone. Love seems more distant. He knows that he loves John with a burning passion that is eating him up from within, because the man he loves is good and he himself is sliding further towards the darkness of his mind. He will be consumed by the monsters there. They will take him and they will rip him apart, tear off his skin and bite into his flesh, they will  _eat him_ , unless he does something to appease them.

 He no longer thinks that it is possible to salvage himself. How can he? No one can help; no one will save him because that is not how the world works. No one is saved in the end; there will be no last-minute rescue.

_It's too late now to stop the process  
This was your choice - you let it in_

He knows that it will be a downwards spiral and he will become unable to pull himself back to what he was. God, is he already thinking of that in the past tense?

Heroes do not exist, and he was never one of them. There is the screech of brakes but the pads are smoothly worn down, and the cliff is approaching fast. He will fall, and when he does he will be unable to claw back that sense of rationality. There is no coming back from this, the tracks are set into stone and he has no choice but to follow them. Any attempt would end in a wreck, fireball, and no survivors.

_This double life you lead is eating you up from within  
One thousand shards of glass you pushed beneath my skin_

He wished that he could tell John, but the fear that the other man would leave him was getting worse. John did not believe him to be capable of such things, though Sherlock knew that he feared it. He would usually tell his soldier when he thought this way in the hope that he could fix it, but this time he would not. This time it was too late. John was too late to save him.

One of the worst parts of it is the facts he knows that his fiancé will be there to see it all, to see him fall into darkness and he will be powerless to do anything about it. It will hurt John, Sherlock is sure of this. It will be a slow torture of watching Sherlock descend, as if he is not far gone enough already. He doesn’t want to do that to John, he does not want to be the one to break his heart, but he will be. And Sherlock’s heart shall break along with it.

If he was not such a pessimist perhaps he would believe there could be some salvation, that perhaps this was not irretrievable. Perhaps he would believe that at least John could escape this, but the simple fat remained that he could not bring himself to think there would be any form of mercy for them.

Sebastian had said that he would be good on the other side, the ‘dark side’, and somehow he knew that to be correct. He knew that he would be so brilliant and now he wanted that, the line had faded and he was out of reasons to get it back. Maybe he could just take that offer.

And then, Lestrade believes him to be a good man, Lestrade had helped him in the past and helped him to pull his life back together when it was cocaine-ravished and all seemed lost. When he was doing nothing but wasting away and waiting for death. If he pulls together this time it will be nothing but an illusion, like putting a plaster over a gunshot wound.

Perhaps he was more like Jim than he had hoped. He had known that he was not one of the angels, though he was on their side. There had been such a graphic reminder of it too, a searing memory of blood and the smell of copper in the air, his own cries of pain until he finally slid into warm unconsciousness. It would have been easier if that was the end, perhaps. If he had died then. He had worked for so long to not be the same as Moriarty, and yet… and yet, here he is.

_Maybe without me_   
_You'll return to all the beauty I once knew_   
_But if I stay I know_   
_We will both be drowned by you holding onto me_

John is the only entirely good man Sherlock has ever met who was able to stand him for long, and he knows that when he takes this path he will drag the man down with him. Back to the cliff, take his hand, and make him jump too. When he falls he will tug the other man along with him, whether he wants it or not.

The soldier ought to save himself. John ought to have run when Sherlock gave him the chance at the start, because now Sherlock is going to slowly destroy him, and he fears that. His mind is fractured and broken, and he was going to hold onto John until they were both pulled under the surface, black tar closing over their heads, lead weights weighing the both of them down. Would John try to run now? When he realize just how far gone Sherlock really was? Or would he stay and drown alongside him?

His mind is two warring factions, light and dark, and the latter is finally taking over. There has always been such noise in his head, enough to send anyone insane, but it is worse now and more like screaming than ever. He hates the screams of monsters and shouting of details that to anyone else would be insignificant, but to him are always there, and he notices them all. He does not get a choice in the matter.

The light in him has turned dark. He wonders if they can see it yet. It is not on the outside, but it is smouldering inside his mind, ready to catch alight.  _I’ve gone insane_ , he thinks,  _it’s just a matter of time before they see it._


End file.
